


Counting Bodies Like Sheep

by sistabro



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cutting, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Sam Winchester's Demonic Powers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-31
Updated: 2011-05-31
Packaged: 2017-10-19 23:15:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/206276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sistabro/pseuds/sistabro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's when it stretches out through days five, six and seven that the knife becomes necessary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Counting Bodies Like Sheep

**Author's Note:**

> Written ages ago for [this prompt](http://ohsam.livejournal.com/148398.html?thread=961198) at [**ohsam**](http://www.livejournal.com/users/ohsam/)'s one year anniversary [commentfic meme](http://ohsam.livejournal.com/148398.html). I was going to do something with it, and now can't remember what, so I'm going to post before I lose track of it entirely. Thanks to [**naatz**](http://www.livejournal.com/users/naatz/) for the quick beta and coherency check. All errors and wtf moments are entirely my own fault. Also, not the strictest interpretation of the prompt. Yeah, I don't even know either. Title from lyrics in the song _Pet_ by Perfect Circle.

Sometimes it's hard to tell. Tell where he is, when he is, who he is. Not always. Sam has good days, good weeks even.

(Sam hasn't had a good stretch last longer than five days for years now. But when he was thirteen, there was a glorious month and a half when he always knew where, when and who he was. Dean's pretty sure it was a one shot deal, just Sam's hormones fucking around. But that doesn't stop him from telling Sam it'll happen again someday. Even pretend hope is better than none at all.)

But he has bad days, too, a stretch of them usually. The first bad day, when the vision comes, is actually not that bad, once the drugs take the edge off the headache.

(Dean hates that Sam considers spending six hours curled up with a migraine on the bathroom floor an okay day. He hates it even more that he does, too.)

The second bad day is generally even better. They can usually drive some.

(Sam's a confused, jittery mess on day two. The hum of the tires on the open road is the only thing that consistently calms Sam down enough he stops freaking out about everything. Dean's always sure to give the car a wash and wax later as a thank you.)

If Sam's lucky, day three will be the last one. He'll sleep through the night and wake up on day four clear headed and ravenous. They'll eat a dozen donuts between them, then Sam will shower and they'll head into town for a real breakfast to celebrate.

(Dean always gets up at about five in the morning on day four. Sam never sleeps through the night before, no matter what he thinks, but if he's calm and sleeping normally for those last hours around dawn, then most likely it's done. If things still look good at eight, Dean will sneak out to buy donuts so Sam doesn't pass out in the shower because he hasn't eaten anything besides crackers and applesauce for the past three days. He's only had to throw them out twice.)

If Sam isn't lucky, then day four will be just like day three. Which isn't great, but still tolerable. It's when it stretches out through days five, six and seven that the knife becomes necessary. Never wanted, but necessary.

(And it is necessary. Dean learned that the hard way. But it doesn't make it any easier. Nothing will ever make this easier.)

See, when Sam has a vision, he doesn't just see the victim.

(And it's always a victim. Dean waits now until they die before calling Bobby to send someone out to clean things up. They used to try, but then Dad died failing to save one. It's safer to wait.)

Sam becomes entangled with them. Twisted up in their present lives and bloody future. Only it's more then that, worse then that. If he just had to watch it all over and over again, it would be manageable. But they...seep. Their thoughts, their senses, their feelings, their identity. And with every day he spends sleepless, in pain and constantly bombarded by someone else's life, the harder it is to remember himself. To wrestle out from under a connection that Sam's pretty sure goes soul deep.

(It always reminds Dean of possession. And no matter how many times they go through this, how many times Sam comes out the other side still himself, Dean is always terrified that this time, the victim will win out and it will be someone else in Sam's body forever. He's pretty sure hoping they will hurry up and die makes him a terrible person. But he can't help it. Because only after they're dead Sam can be _Sam_ again. At least for a little while. Until next time.)

After six days, it's almost impossible not to be completely swallowed up. To remember that he is Sam, not Ed. That he isn't hanging from his wrists in a dark cave while a Wendigo slices his gut open. That a clawed hand isn't reaching inside his stomach and yanking out his intestines, dragging them into its mouth, and _chewing—_

(Dean starts counting when Sam starts screaming. When he reaches sixty and his brother hasn't inhaled yet, he pushes down on the knife.)

The sharp line of pain across his thigh, pain where no pain should be, makes him startle, open his eyes. Draws him back into his own body enough to breathe. He doesn't quite know who he is, but he knows the face hovering above him, knows the hand pressing against his chest. Knows that he isn't strung up in a cave being eaten. Because that's happening to Ed, and Ed doesn't know Dean, doesn't belong to Dean. But Sam does, and that's who he must be then, Sam, not Ed. Sam. The blood rising from the cut on his leg and the bloody knife in Dean's hand are all the proof he needs.  



End file.
